


Bulletproof Heart

by Winterturtle



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Role Reversal, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterturtle/pseuds/Winterturtle
Summary: They met in midst of horrors of the Somme. A friendship was formed between William Schofield and Joseph Blake and now they are being sent on a mission to save lives of sixteen hundred men, including Joe's little brother.
Relationships: Joseph Blake & Tom Blake, Joseph Blake & William Schofield
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

“Blake.” There was no response from the man. “Blake,” this time accompanied with a kick. The man jerked awake, looking up. “Pick a man, bring your kit.”

“Yes, sarge,” he said and got up. Schofield cracked his eyes open, seeing the offered hand. With a small smile he accepted and let himself be helped up. “So much for sleeping,” Blake grumbled. He was unfortunate enough to be selected for some task that forced him to get up awfully early, only being relieved around noon. Once he found Schofield, he immediately laid down and fell asleep.

“Don’t dawdle!” the sergeant called.

“At least you got a few hours,” they made their way across the field. “By the way, this arrived while you were gone,” Schofield pulled a letter from his pocket, passing it to Blake. Without a moment of hesitation, he opened the envelope and began to read.

“Myrtle’s having puppies,” he smiled fondly and then went to read the rest. “I wonder if Tom knows. They’re awfully close.”

Out here on the battlefield, every man had something to keep themselves sane. Most of the men turned to alcohol, some wrote a lot letters home, some played cards… Schofield had his tin and Blake loved to talk about his family. From what Blake told him, his family lived on a small farm, he had a younger brother that looked exactly like him, but a little younger and shorter.

They met in midst of horrors of the Somme. Everyone Schofield knew were killed. He wasn’t the most experienced out of the men of his battalion, but he wasn’t completely green either. He saw some battles, but none of them were on par with Somme.

Somehow, Schofield ended all alone and got lost. He was all that was left of his group. He had no one to watch his back. No one to help him if he got hurt. A body falling into his crater pulled him out of his thoughts and he got ready to shoot, stopping only the second he noticed the man had the same uniform.

Schofield saw the man around before, but he never bothered to try to befriend him. Neither of them had to say anything now – making a silent agreement, they watched each other’s backs, eventually getting to know each other and they formed a friendship.

They chatted as they made their way to their sergeant, who notified them about the presence of the general. Their arrival was announced, both of the men saluted. “Which one of you is Blake?” the general asked.

“Sir,” Blake said.

“You have a brother, in the second Devons,” the general spoke again and Schofield got a strange sense of foreboding.

“Yes sir. Thomas Blake. Is he-“

The general interrupted him. “Alive, as far as I know. And with your help, I would like to keep it that way.” The general began to explain the situation, and Schofield could see the cogs turning in Blake’s head and his expression was full of fear and worry.

Once they were dismissed, Blake quickly pocketed the letter and sped down the trench. Schofield tried to reason with him, but Blake was stubbornly focused on their task. “You don’t understand!” Blake raised his voice and turned to face Schofield. “He’s not your brother! It’s my fault he joined this bloody war in the first place and if something happens to him…” he trailed off. He looked like he was about to cry.

“Blake,” Schofield’s tone softened at the sight. “Last time we were told the Boche were gone, it didn’t end well. You were there too. And if we’re not smart about this, nobody will get to your brother.”

Schofield watched as Blake took in what he just said. Taking a deep breath, he let his shoulders fall. Blake knew Schofield was right. “Alright. But we’re not waiting until dark.”

This was enough for Schofield. He realized he wouldn’t be able to change Blake’s mind, but at least Blake is now not blindly rushing to potential death. “Fine. Let’s find the Yorks.”

The front lines are always depressing. Death was everywhere and one never knew when it would come for him. as it turned out, Blake somehow knew lieutenant Leslie, who was now in command, so Schofield let Blake deal with him. By the time they were about to enter no man’s land, they attracted quite a crowd and with Leslie’s blessing, they went over the top.

Creeping quietly through no man’s land, taking any cover they could, Schofield slid down into a crater. He made a disgusted face when he noticed a rat feeding on a rotting corpse right next to him. Blake slid next to him a moment later. The corpse next to him started to move, and Blake pushed himself away, bumping into Schofield, who tried to regain his balance, only for his already injured hand going straight through the corpse.

The corpse next to Blake stopped moving and a rat scurried away from a hole in the dead man’s side. “That was freaky,” Blake whispered.

“Let’s just keep going.”

They made their way to the enemy trench and still wary of their surroundings, they entered the bunker. While Blake examined the cans with labels he couldn’t understand, Schofield slowly moved forward, examining every space where his flashlight reached.

“Wait,” he stopped, preventing Blake from going any further, “tripwire. Over here.” Schofield looked closer, searching for another one, and when he couldn’t find another one, both men slowly made their way over it, careful as not to set it off.

“That was a close one,” Blake quietly said. They didn’t make it very far into the tunnel, when a thud from behind them attracted their attention. A rat and a sack that was previously hanging on a rope was on the ground. They watched as the rat started to drag the sack…

…right towards the tripwire. “No, no!” Blake panicked and took a step closer, only for a loud boom to shake the whole construction.

“-me on! Come on Blake! We’ll get buried here if we don’t move!” Schofield was shaking him. He looked around with wide eyes, noticing that he was on the ground. “Get up!” He felt himself being lifted up. The action snapped him out of his haze – he got his feet under him and let Schofield guide him to the light in the distance that must be exit.

Once outside and out of the danger, they fell to their knees, breaking into coughing fit. “Dirty bastards!” Schofield snarled between the coughs. For a while, both men focused on getting the air into their lungs, trying to get rid of the dust.

Blake fumbled for his water canteen, gulping the water greedily and washing the dust away from his throat. He was about to pass his canteen to Schofield, only to notice the man was already drinking from his own.

Ringing in Blake’s ears finally went away. “Are you alright?” Blake asked concerned when he noticed Schofield breathing deeply, his hand over his tin.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just- Just fire that flare,” he said as he took out his tin and looked at the photos inside. Blake pushed himself up and fired the flare. His gaze stayed on the now burning flare, mesmerized by the shimmering light. There was something magical about the way it shone. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend he was a little boy again and the light of the flare was actually a fairy from a story his mother would tell them.

A soft click and a hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. “Let’s keep going,” Schofield said. Blake gave him a nod and followed, both men silent. Once the silence was unbearable, Blake began talking. He talked about anything that came to mind – how Tom fell into a river when a branch snapped under him, how they brought home Myrtle as a puppy…

The sight of the cut cherry trees saddened him greatly, so he talked about their orchard back home. They stopped at the stone wall.

“It looks abandoned,” Blake said, examining the farmhouse.

“Let’s hope so.”

“We have to make sure,” he said and fell silent right after that, making his way to the farmhouse, his rifle raised and Schofield right on his heel. Splitting up, they searched for any threats.

“Anything?”

“Nothing.”

They switched positions and Schofield headed to the barn nearby. A pail caught his attention and after making his way to it, his eyes widened. Milk. Tasting it, a small smile appeared on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fresh milk. Taking his canteen, he poured the water from it and started to fill it with milk. “Hey, Blake! Come look at this!” he called, not taking his eyes off of the pail, not wanting to spill anything.

“What?” Blake made his way to him. “Wait,” his eyes widened as well, “is that?”

“Yes,” Schofield replied, smiling. He finished filling his canteen and watched as Blake started to empty his canteen too. Distant sound of planes caught his attention, Blake stopping to fill his canteen, taking in the planes.

“Who’s winning?”

“Us, I think. Two on one,” Schofield said and Blake resumed filling his canteen. The dogfight kept going and just as Blake put his now filled canteen away, Schofield spoke.

“They got him.” They watched as the German plane began to fall down, disappearing behind a nearby hill… Only to head straight for them. Wasting no time, both men sprinted away from the way of the plane. Once it crashed into the barn, it went up in flames and screaming filled the air.

Despite the war changing him greatly, Blake wasn’t heartless. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and made his way to the screaming man. He struggled to pull him out, only succeeding when Schofield helped him.

“We should put him out of his misery,” Schofield jerked his eyes to the man on the ground.

“No, he needs some water,” Blake argued. “Please,” he pleaded when he saw the look Schofield gave him.

Schofield exhaled quickly and made his way to the water pump nearby. “Fine.” He heard as Blake started to reassure the German as he began to pump the water into his helmet.

“Wait, what are you doing? Put that away! Hey!” Blake’s voice caused him to spin with speed he didn’t think was possible. His gaze zeroed on the knife the German was holding. Dropping his helmet, he took his rifle and shot. 


	2. Chapter 2

Two shots rung out almost at the same time. Schofield watched as the German fell to the ground, dead. For a moment, everything stilled. There was no distant chirping of birds, no light April breeze, no crackling of the burning barn. Blake then took two steps back, catching Schofield’s attention and everything came crashing back.

With wide eyes, Blake dropped his rifle and his hand went slowly to his side. No. _No._ Schofield watched in horror as Blake patted himself where he assumed the knife went in. Blake’s eyes never left the dead body on the floor.

Schofield’s brain refused to process what was happening. His legs refused to move. He saw many men die, yet this was different. Blake was his only friend out here he could always count on. They had each other’s backs since Somme. This couldn’t be happening.

Blake looked down at the wound that Schofield still couldn’t see because Blake was facing him sideways. He let out shaky breath and fell to his knees, his head hanging low. This forced Schofield’s legs to unlock and he rushed to Blake, throwing his rifle away.

“Blake,” his voice was full of worry. “Blake!” this time, fear was present. “Joe. Hey,” he basically threw himself on his knees in front of the other man. He tried to see the wound, but Blake’s hand was covering his side. “Hey, hey, look at me. Joe, look at me.” Schofield pleaded. He couldn’t decide whether he should remove Blake’s hand from his wound or try to offer some comfort if worst comes to worst. He needs to take a look at the wound.

But Blake wasn’t reacting to anything. He just kept staring at Schofield’s knees, but seeing right through them. Panic was quickly rising in Schofield’s chest. Was it already too late?

“That was close.” It was so quiet Schofield could confuse the exhaled phrase with a breeze blowing. But then, Blake’s eyes met his, strange mix of emotions in them. He let out a sound Schofield wasn’t sure if it was a sob or a laugh. “God, that was close,” he said loud and clear.

“What?” Schofield’s brain refused to catch up. He only watched as Blake raised his hand from his wound to show it. His palm was smeared with blood, but when Schofield looked where the hand was previously placed, he didn’t find the blood pouring from a hole like he expected – he just found a straight cut in Blake’s clothes, the edges soaked with blood, but not too much. He just looked between Blake’s side and bloody palm.

“The bastard just grazed me,” he let out humorless laugh. “I- I think he wanted to stab me, but then I stepped away and he started to pull back when I pointed my rifle at him.” He got a far away look in his eyes now. “It happened so fast.”

“That was stupid,” Schofield said with no real heat. He merely stated it as a fact. He really wanted to be angry but couldn’t bring himself to it right now. Maybe he was still in shock. “God, Blake, that was so stupid.” He took a calming breath and shook his head. It had finally settled – Blake would live. “That big heart of yours will be the death of you.”

“Well, yes. It’s a curse of Blake family,” Blake attempted to joke.

“This is not a laughing matter, Joe!”

“I know. Sorry, I just…” Blake trailed off.

Schofield took a deep breath. “Alright. We should tend to that wound. Can you move?” He needed to calm down if they are supposed to make it.

“I think so, yes,” Blake said, putting his fingers on the tear and moving it so he could look better at the cut. “But it’s not so bad, let’s just keep moving.”

“No. Who knows what lies ahead and I really don’t want to risk it getting infected.” He made a move to take his canteen, but then he remembered that it’s now filled with milk. He looked back, eyes landing at the water pump. “Wait here.”

Schofield grimaced at the dirty water that stayed at the bottom of his helmet. He really didn’t want to clean Blake’s wound with this, so he started pumping and luckily after a few moments, the water cleared. After filling his helmet, he made his way back to Blake.

Blake managed to shrug off his kit, pull out some bandages and a clean cloth. Schofield returned to his previous position, taking the cloth, lifted Blake’s shirt and began to clean the blood. The wound was about five centimeters long, but not that deep.

Just as he finished tying the bandage, a voice called out from behind them. “You alright mate?” Both men quickly turned to face the newcomers, startled. “It’s alright. It’s okay,” the taller one of the two said, raising his hand in calming gesture.

“What’s going on over there?” another voice called. Schofield turned his head again, meeting a pair of boots and a cane. He quickly looked up, taking in the man – the captain – in front of him. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“We have an urgent message for the second Devons. Orders to stop tomorrow morning’s attack,” Schofield said as he stood up, offering his hand to Blake to help him up as well.

“Where are they stationed?” he asked again, watching as Blake covered his bandage with his shirt.

“Just beyond Ecoust,” this time Blake replied.

The captain took in the scene – the burning barn with the plane wreck, the dead German pilot and a knife with a bit blood on it. “Are you alright?” he asked, a bit of concern seeping into his voice.

“Yes sir. It was just a graze, nothing too serious,” Blake assured.

“Alright. Come with me. We’re passing through Ecoust, we can take you some of the way.” He didn’t wait for the two to follow him. The men from before handed Schofield his abandoned rifle and began to follow the captain. After the captain explained the situation to his higher up, the trio made their way to the truck. He patted them both on their shoulders in reassuring and quite fatherly way. “Hop on.”

Once they began to move, the men resumed telling some story. Both Blake and Schofield however looked as the farm grew smaller and smaller, a reminder of what could have been lost. After long uneventful ride only interrupted when one of the wheels got stuck in a mud and some questioning from the men about their mission, the truck stopped again. “The bridge is down,” someone called from the front.

“Looks like we’ll be getting out here,” Blake said and stood up, Schofield following. The men from the truck wished them luck. Captain Smith approached them again. “The next bridge is six miles, we’ll have to divert.”

“We can’t sir. We don’t have the time,” Blake replied, looking at the ruined town. Schofield was sure Blake was aware that they saved at least an hour with the ride. He wondered if it wouldn’t be better for them to stay with the convoy until the next bridge, but the resolve in Blake’s face was loud and clear. They’ll be on their own from here.

“Of course. Best of luck,” the captain shook their hands and told them to make sure there will be witnesses when they deliver the orders.

The two stopped at the broken bridge. Schofield made a move to list himself up on the railing but was interrupted by Blake. “Schofield, wait,” Schofield turned to face Blake, who was rummaging in his pocket. “Here, take this,” he said, holding out the envelope with the orders. “It’ll be safer with you.”

Schofield put the orders into his tin. “Ready?” he asked Blake. He received a nod and they pulled themselves on the railing just as the convoy began to move again. They were halfway across the bridge, when a loud crack sounded and the water rippled where the bullet landed. It took them only a second to realize what was happening.

The bullets kept coming, some ricocheting from the bridge as the two men quickly climbed on the other side. Blake winced at the landing, but brushed off Schofield’s concerned look. Nothing needed to be said as they took their rifles and fell into familiar pattern. Slowly creeping up the stairs, Blake peeked his head over the top to take a quick look. The bullet hit the stone where his head was two seconds later.

“Cover me?” Schofield asked, getting ready. Blake just nodded, stood up and shot before he quickly ducked again. “Alright. On three. One, two three!” Schofield shot his rifle and darted to the house, Blake firing into the window in rapid succession. Then everything went silent. He didn’t hear a single shot coming from the house and Blake was probably reloading.

As quietly as he could, he crept up the stairs, his rifle ready. Slowly pushing open the door, his eyes widened a bit. The German was slumped against the wall, but his gun was pointed at Schofield.

Blake finished reloading, when two shots sounded from the inside. “Schofield!” He ran to the house, occasionally firing into the window. He found Schofield sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, a pool of blood growing below his head. Blake made his way up the stairs, only to find the German dead. Rushing down the stairs to his friend’s side, he let out relieved breath when he noticed Schofield was breathing. Now he could only wait.

When Schofield came to, it was dark. Grunting, he tried to sit up and got surprised when he was helped. “Hey. Welcome to the land of the living.” Blake. That was Blake’s voice. He rubbed the back of his head, grimacing at the pain and the feeling of dried blood. “Are you alright?” Blake asked.

“I think so,” Schofield replied. “What time is it?”

“It’s pretty late… or early. Depends how you look at it. But we have to move.” Even though Blake tried to hide the urgency in his voice, Schofield could still hear it. There was also undertone of tiredness. Did he stay awake all this time?

“You should have left me here.”

Blake looked offended at that. “Are you crazy? I would never do that!” he said as he helped him up. Schofield was still in haze, letting Blake push and pull him around, pressing him against the walls when the sky lit up before going dark again. They made their way to the center of the town and Schofield could see and feel the heat radiating from the burning church.

He felt as Blake started to push him again, whispering. “Don’t look around, just keep walking.” Schofield could faintly hear someone talking behind them in German and then he realized why Blake told him that. Keep low profile as long as you can.

They made it pretty far when the voice behind them rose in volume, calling to them. They started to walk even faster and when the voice didn’t leave and they heard a faint sound of a gun being loaded, they broke into mad dash. “Keep moving!” Blake yelled when the first shot pierced the air. Blake let go of Schofield and grabbed his own gun. When the second shot fired, Blake spun around and shot the man pursuing them.

Blake turned around again, only to find Schofield kicking at the small wooden door. He kicked it open and disappeared into the opening, Blake following close behind. The door closed behind them and they listened as another pair of footsteps ran past them. They made their way through the dark basement, only to find a fire and a young girl – barely a woman.

She treated Schofield’s wound as Blake talked to her in French, confirming that this was Ecoust and how to get to the woods. A small sound startled the two men and they watched as the girl pulled a baby from one of the open drawers. The two were in awe of the sight of the baby and Schofield naturally slipped into his father role as he began to recite a poem.

“Schofield, you should stay here. Your head wound doesn’t look good. I promise I’ll send help once I reach the Devons.” Blake broke the silence.

“No,” Schofield said and started to get up. “We’re in this together, remember? We’ve already got so far,” Schofield shrugged off his kit and started to put his food on the table. “For you. And the baby.”

The woman said something Schofield couldn’t understand, but the word “milk” caught his attention. How could he forget? He opened his canteen and let the girl sniff it. Her eyes went wide, not believing it was real. Blake passed her his canteen as well, putting his food with Schofield’s and promised her they would be back.

Just as they left the basement, a bell signaled the early morning. They quickly made their way through the ruined streets, only finding troubles once when a young German soldier tried to alert others of their presence. While Schofield covered his mouth with his hand, Blake hit him with the butt of his rifle, knocking the soldier out.

The shooting started when they were near the river and with no other option, they jumped into the cold water, the current quickly carrying them away. Schofield was purely exhausted at this point, and if it wasn’t for Blake, he would have drowned.

“Come on. Come on, Schofield, we’re almost there. Look, the woods. The Devons are somewhere there.” Blake was getting desperate. The Devons were ordered to attack at dawn and the sun was already rising. But he couldn’t leave Schofield here, so he pulled him up and supported his weight as they stumbled through the woods.

A sound of singing caught their attention, making Schofield more aware. It was English. They arrived at a small clearing. One soldier was standing in the middle, singing for the men sitting around him. nobody payed the duo no mind, entranced by the song. For a moment, even Blake forgot about everything and listened, the lack of sleep and physical exhaustion taking its toll.

“Blake,” someone shook his shoulder. “Blake.” He opened his eyes. When did he close them? “They’re the Devons. But they’re the second wave. We have to hurry.” Schofield said urgently. Blake snapped back to reality, silently cursing himself for forgetting why he was here in the first place. His body filled with new determination as they pushed past the men in crowded trench and their search for colonel Mackenzie began.

“Thirty seconds!”

The two looked down the crowded trench. Three hundred yards. They wouldn’t be able to make it even if the trench was empty, but with how crowded it was, it would take far too long. The desperation in Blake’s voice broke something in Schofield. He wouldn’t let his best friend suffer like this. Even if the idea he got was borderline crazy, he would do his best.

“Schofield!” he ignored Blake’s alarmed calls as he went over the top and ran. The shells were falling all around him, but he kept going forward. Every second counted now. The sound of the whistle signaled the men to go over, but Schofield kept running, tackling some men along the way.

Finally, a dugout with two men guarding the entrance appeared. He slid down the slope of the trench, heading straight to it. “Let me through!” he yelled as the guards stopped him. “I have to see colonel Mackenzie! I have to stop this attack!” The two guards ignored him, dragging him away from the entrance and pushing him against the wall.

“There’s no bloody way you’re going in there.” Schofield still struggled, but then the hands holding him in place disappeared. The one of them was on the ground, the other one struggling against someone. “Go!” Blake yelled. Schofield didn’t need to be told twice and entered the dugout.

Schofield was getting desperate when the colonel refused to read the letter. Pleading didn’t work and all of those men out there will die. “You’re walking into a trap! The Germans planned it for months!” Blake yelled as he stumbled into the dugout, standing next to Schofield. The way Blake said it must have done the trick and he finally took the letter.

“Major, stand them down.” And with that one simple sentence, relief washed over the duo. After colonel said what was on his mind and kindly told them to fuck off, they allowed themselves only a moment to relax. They still had to find Blake’s little brother. Splitting up seemed like the best option, since they would cover more ground.

Schofield kept calling his name, but so far, no one answered. He began to worry that the younger Blake was lying somewhere, wounded… or worse. He almost covered his half of the camp. People kept milling around him, unaware of his inner turmoil. Somewhere near, a group of men laughed. They sat in half circle in front of a man Schofield assumed must be telling some funny story.

“Lieutenant Blake!” he called out again. He hoped that at least Joe found him. If not…

“Yes?”

One simple word caused Schofield to turn to the direction where the voice came from. The man that was telling the story stood up, his back no longer facing Schofield and wow. Blake really didn’t lie when he said that his younger brother looks exactly like him. “I’m from the eighth,” he said as the younger Blake made his way to him.

“Eighth? What are you doing here? Wait- Then you must know my brother!”

“I was sent here with him.” Schofield watched as the boy’s face lit up.

“Joe’s here? Where is he?” Schofield wondered how someone could seem so innocent out here. Pushing his thought’s aside, he prepared to reply…

“Tom!”

… and was promptly interrupted. He didn’t care though. The bright smiles of the Blake brothers as they ran to each other for a hug moved something inside of him. A reminder of what they’ve been fighting for. He watched them with a fond smile for a little while before deciding to give them some privacy.

Looking around, he found a lone tree a little further in the field. Schofield made his way to it, letting the rough bark press into his back as he sat down and took out his tin. The smiles of his family greeted him and he made a silent promise that he would return to them. No matter what. He put his tin back into his pocket, letting his hand rest over the smooth surface and let his eyes fall shut.

Rustling of grass pulled him out of his light doze. Opening one eye, he watched as Blake lowered himself into the grass close to him and pulling his brother’s helmet over his eyes. “Why aren’t you with your brother?” Schofield asked.

“He got called to attend to some business. No worries, he’ll come here when he’s done. He knows where to find us. I thought we could get some sleep while we can. I don’t know how you, but I feel like I could sleep for at least a year. And also, I don’t need Tom talking my ears off while I’m tired,” his word got slurred towards the end and then fell asleep.

Schofield shook his head a little at Blake. But he was right. They finished their mission, so they deserved some rest, didn’t they? And with that thought, he fell asleep as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. I greatly enjoyed writing this one (although it's way longer than I originally planned). I wondered what would happened if they went with the convoy to the next bridge, but I decided to stick to the canon as close as possible. Thank you for every comment and kudos, you have no idea how much it means to me. Thanks for reading and have a nice day <3

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it with another story. This is my take on what would happen if Joe's and Tom's roles were reversed. Feedback is always appreciated.


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